[There's hardly anything immediately recognizable left about the girl sitting on the edge of one of the nearby cauldrons, kicking her legs and ignoring any of the strange looks she might have got for choosing to do so. In an effort to make her sudden abundance of hair manageable, it's been braided and hangs heavily over her right shoulder; her own green ribbon keeping it secured at the end.

Her outfit has been personally tailored into something shorter, similar enough to her own style. And while it's significantly less useful here, a fashionable parasol befitting a princess hangs from her right hand.

Listening to him, though, she simply feels like chiming in with a dry smirk on her face.]

The people outside saved nearly every last scrap of those things.

[She shrugs, tapping the closed parasol on the side of the cauldron.]

We'll probably be eating them for the next hundred years.